


i get a shiver when you come around here

by notinthisarmy



Category: Coolgames Inc (Podcast) RPF, McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Flirting, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 01:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11369367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notinthisarmy/pseuds/notinthisarmy
Summary: Somehow, Nick managed not to freeze up, even as his stomach lurched in surprise. He didn’t know why it came as a shock, when he’d been flirting like an obvious fool all night, but somehow he didn’t think either one of them was going to have the guts. But here they were, curled up on Pat’s sofa, and Pat was kissing him very, very gently, one hand touching the edge of his jaw.





	i get a shiver when you come around here

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a song called _Busy Man_ by Ralph, who's a Toronto artist who just signed to Carly Rae Jepsen's label. That's right, the queen herself. The song doesn't really have anything to do with the fic but you should look up Ralph; she has a six-song EP and it's magic from start to finish, as are her music videos.
> 
> Anyway. Free promo being over, here's the fic I guess? Let's fucking hope they're all too busy making the video game world better to get curious about fanfiction.
> 
> Also, I know this doesn't have any McElroys in it - but the Polygon RPF tag redirects here, so this seems to be the only option. Sorry for any confusion!

“So where - where’s this coffee place?”

Nick tried not to let it show in his voice that he was just about jogging to keep pace with Pat. It was sort of embarrassing, but then again they had been walking for a while with no sign of slowing, and Pat was, just mathematically speaking, seventy percent leg.

Pat glanced over, his brisk pace faltering just a little. “Coffee place?”

“You said you were going on a coffee break,” Nick reminded him. “And then I said, great, I’ll come with?”

“Yeah,” Pat said, and drew his mouth to one side of his face. “No, I do see how that was confusing. I don’t actually get coffee on my coffee breaks, but I don’t smoke, and I don’t think it sounds as good to say ‘I’m going to leave now and walk for a while because the air is stale and smells like chilli fries’. It’s not the accepted professional lingo.”

“So, no coffee.” Nick tried hard not to feel a flash of annoyance, because jet lag was still fucking him up and he’d been up at what _felt_ like four am. Then Pat stopped dead, right in the middle of the sidewalk, and even Nick knew that was a rookie mistake. About four people stumbled behind them and bumped their shoulders as the flow of foot traffic redirected.

“Sorry,” said Pat. “Do you want coffee?”

“I - yeah, kinda! You thought I just wanted to take a leisurely stroll?”

“That’s very generous of you, Nick, but I _am_ aware this wasn’t leisurely.” Pat gave him a thin smile, and a strange little dip of his head, and Nick shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, suddenly self-conscious. It wasn’t like he was breathing hard or anything. If he was lucky, maybe he wasn’t even flushed.

“We can do coffee,” Pat went on, squinting around in the grey chill of the early afternoon as if he expected it to suddenly appear. “Food, too?”

“Sure,” Nick said, thinking back to his breakfast of two McDonald’s hash browns and a Jamba Juice.

“Bagels,” Pat announced with a sharp nod. “There’s a great bagel place nearby.”

Nick wondered what ‘nearby’ meant to Pat and his ostrich legs.

 

 

 

 

 

“I think,” Pat was saying, his hands moving in vague, anxious patterns as he tried to illustrate his point, “about eighty percent of the time I love office culture? And then all of a sudden it hits one fifteen in the afternoon and I realize I haven’t heard a bird in like, six hours.”

“Are you big into birds?” Nick asked.

He’d been going for sarcasm, but Pat looked him in the eyes and said quite earnestly, “Not at all. It’s synecdoche. Or - or maybe it’s metonymy, I could never keep them straight, but the point is, I need the fresh air or I start to become convinced that the recycled air is sucking all of the moisture from my skin.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Nick said, which was a lie but a well-intentioned one. He could at least imagine what Pat meant; working from home, his problems were more confined to having to _force_ himself to leave the house because both his hobbies and his vocation lived there. “You like it mostly though?”

“Sure.” Just then their food arrived, and Pat looked up at the girl who’d brought it over. “Thank you,” he said, all heartfelt, and gave her a surprisingly toothy smile. Nick watched her tuck her hands into the sleeves of her sweater and smile awkwardly back. Nick didn’t think he was _flirting_ exactly, but he didn’t think Pat was an idiot, either.

“It’s like, the social aspect is baked in, and I appreciate that,” Pat went on, as if there had been no interruption. He was shaking pepper over his lox-and-cream-cheese bagel. It had some local artisanal fig balsamic glaze drizzled on top, too. Nick wondered if there would be judgment if he put both halves of his bagel together and just dove in - was there a rule about eating it open-faced?

“Water cooler chats,” Nick offered, a half-hearted prompt to go on. Pat gestured at him with the pepper shaker as if to say _exactly_ , and a little sprinkle of pepper fell out onto the table. It was hard not to notice, then, how carefully Pat was holding the little glass shaker, with just his fingertips.

“Classic,” Pat said. “Water cooler chats, indeed. And we work with good people, and I don’t think I’m made for the home office deal. No offense,” he added, and Nick shrugged.

“It’s nice,” he said, “coming out here. I miss you guys, and I like the office. Socializing is a neat concept. Just, like, not neat enough to consider moving to the only other place in America with higher rent than San Francisco.”

“Plus,” Pat added, and then took a bite of his bagel and made Nick wait while he chewed and swallowed. “At the office they’re a lot less understanding if you show up in your tighty whiteys.”

Nick snorted, dipping a finger into a stray drop of mustard on his plate and licking it. “I don’t know what kind of unprofessional environment you think I thrive in, but tighty whiteys are way too revealing. I never show up in anything more suggestive than boxers and a nice T-shirt.”

“One of those ones with the tuxedo printed on it,” Pat said, and it was so dumb but Nick laughed anyway, because Pat was grinning at his own joke, the corners of his lips and his eyes bursting into laugh lines. Pat’s smile took over his face in a way that you didn't see on many people. He was looking at Nick’s torso now as if picturing that douchey T-shirt.

“Yeah,” Nick said, for lack of a better reply; he found himself chewing at the edge of his thumb, watching Pat take another bite and dab at his mouth with a napkin.

“How’s the coffee?” Pat asked, an abrupt change in subject. “Pretty good, right?”

Nick realized the cup just had been sitting steaming on the table, ignored. He tried it now, just black at first - cream and sugar were for masking shitty coffee - and it was, actually, pretty damn good for a restaurant. He nodded, giving an awkward thumbs up, and Pat smiled - just with his lips, but with a simultaneous little toss of his head that shook the hair out of his eyes. And it was intense, Pat’s gaze. Pat didn’t know how to be anything else.

“We miss you too,” Pat said, and let the moment hang a little. Nick could smell the smoked meat on his own bagel and his mouth watered, but he didn’t want to be the one to break eye contact. Pat still had that smile on his lips.

Finally Pat looked down at Nick’s plate. “You should have that before it gets cold,” he said, and his hands were moving with nervous energy again, smoothing over the tabletop, fingers curling and uncurling. He drummed a little with his fingertips.

Nick dug in, and immediately wondered what the fuck he'd been waiting for because it was _incredible._ The bagel was crisp at the edges and chewy inside, and the meat was tender and the grainy mustard was on some next-level shit, little pockets of spice that popped on his tongue. Nick didn't mean to, but he moaned, and Pat gave a very solemn nod.

“I know,” he said. “You reconsidering the whole moving thing yet?”

 

 

 

 

 

The recording went pretty well, in Nick’s opinion. They’d spent the morning working on a rough script and brainstorming, and then they sat on the loveseat, Nick cradling his second coffee in both hands. When the idea first came up, Nick worried it would be a too much awkward in one video - their brands of comedy were a little too close for his comfort - but in the end it felt good. They passed the keyboard back and forth, sitting close enough to brush arms, and Nick realized it had been way too long since he’d collaborated with somebody in the same room. It felt different. It sounded dumb and new agey, but he could feel Pat’s energy somehow, and it fed into his own.

“Awesome,” Nick said, brushing back his hair. It was unnecessary commentary, but he was full of energy and it had nowhere to go. Pat nodded, then looked down at the coffee in Nick’s hands.

“I know jet lag’s a bitch, but are you sure you wanna be chasing the dragon again?”

“Yeah,” said Nick, and nudged Pat’s knee with his own. “I’ve gotta stay awake. We’re all going out, right? Tell me we’re going out for drinks, you guys gotta show me the hot - the hip joints!”

“Absolutely,” Pat said. “That’s not wholly my purview, but _someone_ around here will have their finger on the pulse. Maybe Simone?”

Which was how they all ended up in a divey little place with cross-stitches on the wall behind the bar. They’d all piled into a booth - Pat, Nick, Simone, and Allegra, who were the only ones free on short notice - or “the only ones decent enough to clear their fucking schedules for the visit of our good friend,” as Simone had put it, slinging a proprietary arm around Nick.

Nick spent too long squinting at one of the cross-stitches trying to discern what it said - the one closest to them read _Plants Are Friends_ \- so that when the server asked what he wanted, he panicked and asked for whatever was on tap. He ended up with a lager, too watery and insubstantial for his taste, but on special at least.

Pat initially ordered a sidecar, but changed to a gin and tonic. “That bottle of Triple Sec looks older than me,” he said, once the server was out of earshot.

“Well, excuse me, I didn’t realize you all wanted to go to Jay Gatsby’s mansion,” Simone said, rolling her eyes. “The criteria I was given was _cool._ ‘Someplace _cool_ ’, said Nick. This place is cool! And I feel the need to point out that no one under the age of sixty orders a sidecar.”

“They only had the two types of wine,” Allegra mused, looking over the menu again. “Do you think it was a mistake to order the white one?”

“Yes,” said Pat, while at the same time Simone scoffed, “ _No._ ”

“It’s fine,” said Simone. “Jesus, it’s like none of you ever ate a little street mayonnaise!”

Allegra’s wine turned out to be cheap but not sour, and Pat acknowledged that they hadn’t messed up his gin and tonic, although he would’ve been more impressed than anything else if they had. Simone got what seemed to be her usual here, a shot of vodka dropped in a dry cider. Nick kept his mouth shut about his shitty beer, until Pat asked him how the local brew was.

“Oh, you know,” Nick stalled, looking down at it. “It’s, um…”

“Piss?”

“Like - literal, well, it’s like piss mixed with water, maybe, like a really mild kind of piss, yeah.”

“The piss of a very hydrated person,” Allegra supplied, and Simone added, “Piss Lite.”

“Piss50, like Trop50 - half the piss,” said Pat, and Nick nodded, straight-faced for a long moment - until Simone snickered, and then they all cracked up.

“Just chug it,” Simone told him, but Pat was sliding the glass away from him to the edge of the table.

“Get something bottled this time,” he advised, and raised a hand to flag down the server. “On me, okay?”

“Dude, you don’t have to…”

Allegra kicked him in the shin. “Take the free drink,” she said. “You’re the guest, what kind of crazy person doesn’t take advantage of that?”

Nick got a Dos Equis this time, prompting a round of them all competing for the best impression of The Most Interesting Man in the World. Simone won, predictably in Nick’s opinion, because she could do things with her eyebrows that most people couldn’t fathom, and also because SEO Play was essentially one big parody of that persona.

“I like the décor,” Pat offered, nodding behind the bar. Simone grinned.

“I know! Story goes it was a regular who made the first one, and then people kind of started - donating them? I don’t know, but that one’s my favourite.” Simone pointed at the one Nick had been staring at, and Allegra leaned across the table to get a better look, nearly tipping over her wine. Pat put a hand on the base of her glass to steady it.

“ ‘Home is where them fuckers ain’t’,” she read, and let out a mighty cackle. “Cute.”

Nick, picking at the label on his beer with a thumbnail, felt something swell up a little inside him. He wanted to say something like, _I think I have two homes_ , but he needed another drink in him to get that sappy, and he could predict exactly the reaction - lots of teasing _aw_ s and maybe a fake gag from Simone. So he looked around at them all, instead, and tried to just soak it in - Allegra, giggling and steadying herself with a hand on Pat’s shoulder, trying to read more of the cross-stitches; Simone drawing something lewd in the condensation on her glass; Pat, smiling just a little, his long fingers still pressing on the base of the wine glass but his eyes on Nick, looking back.

 

 

 

 

 

“I don’t wanna go back to my hotel,” Nick whined, when they were all settling their bills and making noise about heading home. At some point, during various bathroom breaks, their seating order had been shuffled around, and he was next to Pat now. He let himself lean in, let his head loll onto Pat’s shoulder. “I wanna keep hanging out…”

Allegra grimaced. “If we didn’t all have work in the morning, I’d be so down, but a lady needs her sleep,” she said.

“Sleep is overrated!”

“This is what happens when you have two cups of coffee in the afternoon,” Pat said, and then gave Nick’s hair a little pet. Simone raised one eyebrow.

“It’s fine,” Nick said. “I’m over the jet lag hump, I could stay awake forever now. I thought I was the guest, you can’t make me go back to a hotel all alone!” He was aware he was sounding increasingly pathetic, but that was the great thing about four beers - it was really hard for him to care, especially if it got him what he wanted, which was attention and affection and _company_.

“Okay,” Pat said. The women looked at him in surprise, but he just shrugged one shoulder. “My place is walking distance from here and I have a sofa bed. You wanna play Mario Kart?”

“That’s a fun new slang term,” Simone remarked, and Allegra smothered a laugh with her hand.

“Ex _cuse_ me,” said Pat. Simone held her hands up in surrender.

“We’re all grownups here,” she said. “Legs, you wanna split a cab?”

“Uh-huh.” They slid out of the booth and hugged Nick and Pat in turn, an arm around each of them.

“Get home safe, boys,” Allegra said, and tousled Pat’s hair a little.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Simone added, and then punctuated this with a click of her tongue and a wink.

 

 

 

 

 

The journey home was sobering all on its own - Nick’s hoodie didn’t quite feel substantial enough for the chill, and it was a good twenty minutes’ walk. At least a tipsy Pat was not quite as purposeful in his stride - they ambled, occasionally knocking shoulders, and at one point surrendered to the siren call of a late-night slice of pizza.

“Dude, this is like… a holiday,” Nick mused, wiping greasy fingers on his jeans. “Can you believe we get to do this? This is… I’m on like a work trip, I’m here for meetings and collabs and shit and it feel like vacation. Most of the time. That’s wild.”

Pat was squinting at the last few bites of his pizza. “Yeah. Hey, I do not wanna spoil the moment, but here’s a question for you: what the hell is this olive doing on my pizza?”

“A rogue agent,” Nick suggested, and then before he could think about what he was doing, reached over. “Here.”

“Oh,” Pat said, and let him take the olive off the pizza, because he had committed at that point. He ate it, and hoped like hell he succeeded in keeping his face neutral. “You... like olives?”

“Sure,” Nick said, and then in a moment of drunken honesty shook his head. “No. I don’t know why I thought that’d be…” _Cute_. It was a testament to the presence of mind he still had left that he trailed off instead of finishing his sentence.

Pat put a hand on his shoulder, stopping them. “Hey,” he said, looking so solemn and intense that Nick swallowed hard. “Thank you. You jumped on that briny, gross grenade for me.”

“S’what friends are for,” Nick demurred, and they started walking again. Pat’s hand was on his far shoulder, now, which was interesting, because it meant Nick was walking down the sidewalk in New York City at a few minutes to midnight with Patrick Gill’s arm around his shoulders. “Don’t turn into a pumpkin,” Nick said, and then snorted at his own stupid inside joke.

Pat, because he was wonderful, just squeezed Nick’s shoulder and said, “All right.”

Pat’s place was smaller than Nick’s, but that was to be expected - it was New York, and he didn’t have a roommate, unless you counted Charlie, who was sprawled on the sofa when Pat flipped on the light and raised a sleepy head to chirp hello at them.

“I missed you too, kiddo,” Pat said, kicking off his shoes and going over to scoop him up. Charlie blinked blearily up at them, letting Nick scratch him under his chin. “Let’s get you fed.”

Nick settled onto the warm spot Charlie had left on the sofa and watched Pat moving around the kitchen, scooping out some wet food from the fridge into a little bowl and then microwaving it on low. “He doesn’t like it cold,” Pat explained, and that was _so_ ridiculous that it made Nick’s pulse flutter. Charlie was winding around Pat’s legs as he walked over to the placemat on the floor where the water dish sat; Pat had to take slow, careful steps, like it was some sort of elaborate dance. Nick wondered if he should get a cat, and then remembered that Andy was allergic.

Pat scratched Charlie’s ears for a minute while he ate, until his tail started to swish back and forth in annoyance. Pat stood, then, and tugged his shirt down at little, although the night had already wrinkled it beyond rescuing. “So,” he said. “Nicolas.”

Nick pulled his socked feet up onto the cushions and leaned over onto the arm of the sofa. “Patrick?”

“Mario Kart?”

“Shit,” said Nick, because it hadn’t been what he’d expected but it was a good suggestion anyway. “Yeah, always.”

Pat, to his surprise, switched on the N64 instead of the Wii, announcing that he was in a retro mood tonight. He went with Wario, of course, and Nick couldn’t help but heckle him a little for it. “Do you actually like his stats, or are you just letting your favouritism get the better of you?”

“Following your heart is a noble path,” Patrick told him, leaning into Nick’s side a little - it could’ve been a shove, except he just stayed there. “Anyway, nice choice on Yoshi, get ready to be run the fuck off the road.”

He did manage to make Nick spin out a few times, but deep down Nick felt pretty certain no one had spent as many adolescent hours playing this game as he had, and in the end the scoreboard reflected it. “150cc sucks,” Pat sulked, flopping back against the sofa and tossing his controller aside in disgust. “I don’t know why I let you pick it.”

“Because I’m your _guest_ ,” Nick reminded him, leaning back next to him. “You have to be _nice_ to me.”

He turned to look at Pat, then, finding their faces a little closer than he’d expected. Pat’s glasses were slightly askew.

“I’ve been very nice,” Pat said, suddenly soft.

“Yeah,” Nick admitted, biting down on a grin. “I’m just demanding.”

Pat shrugged. “Not exactly how I would’ve put it.”

“Oh, no?” Nick turned his whole body to face Pat, propping an elbow up on the back of the sofa and laying his cheek on his arm. He felt silly, but buoyed by late-night effervescence and the glow in Pat’s eyes. “How would you describe me, Patrick?”

Pat’s gaze traced the shape of his face, his eyebrows, his mouth. “Plaintive,” he said, which in itself was not a compliment at all. Nick was still trying to decide if he should feel hurt by this when Pat leaned in and kissed him.

Somehow, Nick managed not to freeze up, even as his stomach lurched in surprise. He didn’t know why it came as a shock, when he’d been flirting like an obvious fool all night, but somehow he didn’t think either one of them was going to have the guts. But here they were, curled up on Pat’s sofa, and Pat was kissing him very, very gently, one hand touching the edge of his jaw.

Pat’s hair fell into their eyes, a ticklish nuisance, and without thinking about it Nick reached up and brushed it back. Pat drew a sharp little breath through his nose, so Nick kept the hand there, threaded through his hair, his temple warm under Nick’s palm. Pat tilted his head a little more, his glasses bumping against Nick’s eyebrow, which would have been annoying if he hadn’t right then sucked Nick’s lip into his mouth. Nick shifted closer, trying to keep that little sound trapped in his throat, suddenly aware of the utter stillness of the apartment and the rustle of his jeans as he moved.

Nick’s chest went tight when Pat pulled away, letting his hand fall back to his lap, and Pat’s face drew tight with sudden distress. “Oh, jeez, see, _that,_ ” he said, sounding pained, waving a hand as if to encompass Nick’s whole face. “You can’t tell me anyone’s _ever_ said no to that. Not that I want to, I’m just -” He pulled his glasses off, folded them against his leg and put them on the coffee table. “That’s all. They were getting annoying.”

“So this -” Nick started to reach for him again and then hesitated. “Is this -”

“Clearly I lost you somewhere, and I just want to understand - was it the part where I bought you a drink, or the part where I invited you back to my place at midnight on a Tuesday, or the part where I put my arm around you -”

“Fuck you,” Nick said, laughing. He thumped Pat in the shoulder, grabbing a hold of his shirt and using it as leverage to climb into Pat’s lap and shut him up. It was definitely better without the glasses. Pat’s hands landed on his hips with some uncertainty at first, but his confidence grew when Nick cupped his face in his hands and tilted it to the right angle. He answered the touch with a tug on Nick’s belt loops, and then he pushed Nick’s T-shirt up a little, touching the bare skin underneath. Nick slid his hands down to the sides of Pat’s neck, five o’clock shadow rasping under his hands, and found there was something inexplicably hot about feeling Pat’s throat work as he opened his mouth and licked behind Nick’s teeth. Pat’s pulse beat hard against his thumbs.

Shit, making out was so good. Every time Nick got the chance he felt like it was better than _anything_ , and he knew he’d remember that that wasn’t totally true once his dick was getting touched, but also? Making out was better than anything. Pat was grabby - his hands never seemed to stop moving, spreading warmth across Nick’s back and along his ribs. He was a careful kisser, though, and at first Nick tried to match it, resisting the urge to bite or pull, even though he felt hollow with need, and the way their stubble caught and scraped only made him hungrier. He didn’t know Pat yet, didn’t want to risk the embarrassment of going too hard and scaring him off.

They moved slow at first, letting out shaky breaths into each other’s mouths, diving deep and then pulling back to check in. But then Nick let out a little groan that made Pat grasp at his shoulders a little harder than before, and Nick forgot for a moment to be careful - his teeth caught on Pat’s lower lip, and Pat surged up into him, nails digging into Nick’s shoulders now, and suddenly they were caught in a feedback loop. Nick bit a little harder, Pat dragged his nails down, and Nick pushed his hands into Pat’s hair to draw him in, as if they could possibly get any closer. Pat locked his arms behind Nick’s back and pulled until Nick’s half-hard cock was pressing into Pat’s stomach and he could feel Pat stirring too.

Nick leaned back just enough to talk, still held fast by the circle of Pat’s arms. “Bed?” he said, breathing hard. Pat’s eyes were shining and his mouth was so red, and Nick figured they had about thirty more seconds before he stopped caring about the sanctity of Pat’s sofa.

“Mm?” Pat blinked a few times. “Yes. What? Yes. Okay.” His grip loosened, and Nick stood, taking Pat’s hand and pulling him to his feet.

They had to shoo Charlie off the bed first. Pat closed the door behind him, and then turned to face Nick, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hair was tousled, his shirt even more rumpled than before. Nick wanted to get his hands on every part of him.

“C’mere,” he said. He felt like an idiot, sitting there with his hands fisted in the bedspread, but Pat wasn’t laughing; he was taking a step forward, and then another. Nick reached out, reeled him in with a grip on his shirtfront.

“Hi,” said Pat, when Nick’s knees bumped his thighs. “Can I -” He pushed at the hem of Nick’s T-shirt until Nick raised his arms and let it be pulled off over his head.

“Point of no return,” Nick said, with a weak laugh. He didn’t know why he said it - nerves, stupidity - but Pat just gave him a gentle shove till he fell back onto the mattress.

“Shut up,” he said, with absolutely no bite to it. And then he undid the button on Nick’s jeans.

 

 

 

 

 

One of the qualities Nick liked best about Pat was the way he turned his intensity into something he could use. It could have been awkward in someone else, but Pat was aware of himself in a way most people never were. Pat could be anxious and fidgety, but he also worked hard to project calm, especially in the face of other people’s nerves.

Pat lay above him, carefully propping himself up on his elbows and knees. It was hard not to be hyperaware of their state of undress - Pat in his navy blue boxer-briefs, Nick in his stupid faded old banana-patterned boxers that Pat had blessedly, _generously_ not commented on - and of the way their legs slotted together, their hips apart but Pat’s thigh close enough to his dick that Nick had to force himself to stay still. Pat leaned in closer, brushing their noses together, grazing his lips across Nick’s, and Nick could smell him - hard to tell if it was deodorant or cologne, but something heady and warm. It was a tease, and Nick strained his neck leaning up for more, but Pat pulled away, just a little. His eyelashes fluttered as he considered Nick’s face.

“I want to suck you off,” Nick whispered. He didn't think about it first - it just fell from his lips and his brain acknowledged, a moment later, that it was true. He flushed red, then, but Pat’s head dropped onto his shoulder like a string had been cut.

“Jesus,” Pat muttered, and he bit down on the skin beneath his mouth. Nick jolted, and then moaned as the teeth in his shoulder gripped him tighter. That was another thing Nick appreciated about Pat. Good at reading people.

When Pat raised his head again, he looked calm again, if very focused. “We’ll get to that,” he said, and then ducked down again to nudge beneath Nick’s jaw, tilting his head back, kissing the delicate skin there. “Definitely. What about what I want?”

Nick gave a little huff of laughter, reaching up to get his hands on Pat’s shoulders - not broad but still strong, lean - he could feel the muscles working to hold Pat above him - and then down his sides, sparking tension under the skin wherever he touched. And all the while Pat didn't falter in his work, kissing a slow path from below Nick’s chin up to his ear.

“What do you want?” Nick asked, when it was obvious Pat wasn't going to offer it up.

“I wanna mark you up,” Pat said, and his breath on Nick’s ear drew a shiver. As if to prove his point he nipped at Nick’s ear, pulling a little on the shell. “Nowhere obvious, just…”

“You wanna give me hickeys,” Nick translated, and then giggled at the surreal sound of the words from his mouth. He hadn't been given a hickey in years probably, but it didn't sound _bad_ , now that he was on his own and didn't have parents to hide shit from. But Pat drew back a little at the little at the laugh, and Nick had to grasp at him to keep him from sitting up. “No, shit, I’m not laughing cause it's funny, it just feels a little unreal? You know?”

“I guess so,” said Pat, and he didn't sound hurt, just mildly dubious. “Insofar as the truly inevitable can.”

Nick bit his lip but couldn't keep it in. He laughed again, a little high-pitched for him, and turned his head to bury his face in Pat’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m seriously - I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“You’re terminally adorable,” Pat sighed, “and it's fine, because I’m going to shut you up.”

He leaned down and bit the point of Nick’s jaw, and then the soft place beneath it, sucking the skin into his mouth; and it was, shit, _good,_ but also -

“You said nowhere obvious,” Nick got out, a little squeak in his voice.

Pat let go of his neck, and when he spoke, it was a low murmur the stirred the soft hairs behind Nick’s ear. “Yeah, well, that was before you laughed at me.”

“Oh,” said Nick, and let out a sigh as Pat kept working that spot. This was a problem for future Nick to worry about, he figured. “Fair enough.”

There was something very indulgent about just lying there on his back, arms over his head, letting Pat’s mouth trace the contours of his neck and shoulders - and Pat didn't bite down much, but mostly relied on gentle suction, lingering in each spot long enough that Nick would start squirming. He was a torturous jackass about it; only then would he move on and only after hovering a little, his breath on the damp skin making Nick shiver.

He bit down for real when he got to a spot just above Nick’s left nipple, and Nick yelped so loud he clapped a hand over his own mouth. Pat raised his head, looking up through the curtain of his hair. “Good?” was all he said, and Nick shut his eyes.

“Yeah, you dickwad, don't stop.”

“Rude,” Pat muttered, and then grazed his teeth _so_ gently over Nick’s nipple, gave it the barest flick of his tongue.

It felt like being mapped, like Pat was noting all the places he decided he liked best for no particular reason - the base of Nick’s throat, the point of his shoulder, a few select spots shudderingly close to his nipples, another few along his ribs, one at the junction of his hip and thigh that was weirdly intense because it was _almost_ , but not quite, ticklish. Pat had to tug down the waistband of Nick’s boxers to get at it, and he managed to keep all contact from Nick’s dick but by this point just the rasp of the fabric sliding over the head made Nick’s toes curl.

And then Pat was pulling his boxers off entirely, and Nick’s heart hammered because he thought _finally_ he was going to get touched for real, but all Pat did was nudge his knees apart and press an open mouth to his inner thigh.

“Oh, you motherfucker,” Nick groaned - his voice was going the other way, now, dropping into his lower register - but all that did was make Pat drag his teeth hard and slow over the soon-to-be bruise he'd created. “Will you just let me suck your goddamn dick already?”

Pat hummed against his skin, lifting his head just enough to look Nick in the eye. “You make a compelling argument.”

Nick reached down, managed to get a hold of Pat’s wrist and tug until Pat was crawling up to join him. Pat came easy enough after all; he let Nick give his shoulder a little shove until he was on his back, a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead and the rest of it splayed out beneath him, shining in the lamplight. He had the faintest smile on his lips.

Nick just looked at him for a moment - his lean thighs, slightly spread, one knee a little more bent than the other; the subtle jut of his hipbones; the little trail of dark hair that started at the dip of his navel and disappeared into his sensible navy underwear. Nick could see the shape of him through the fabric, and felt his mouth water. He got on his knees, trying to ignore the weight of his own hard-on as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Pat’s boxer-briefs and pulled them carefully down. Pat was most of the way there already - impressive considering Nick had done fuck all for what felt like the last half hour - and he seemed to be getting harder under Nick’s scrutiny. His eyes had gone dark.

“You have the prettiest mouth,” he murmured. Nick felt his lips part at the words, and found himself leaning forward, because Pat was reaching out a tentative hand. He touched Nick’s mouth, dragged the bottom lip down a little and to one side as if just to see if he could. Nick opened his mouth a little more. Pat slipped his middle finger inside, and Nick pushed in closer, hollowed and curled his tongue to lick the underside of Pat’s finger from base to tip.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Pat hissed, and his withdrew his hand only to press it to the back of Nick’s neck, pushier than he’d been all night. Nick didn’t tease; it wasn’t his style. He licked his palm, curled it around the base of Pat’s dick and held it steady, tilted his head _just_ right so his hair wouldn’t block his whole view of Pat’s face, and he took the first couple inches into his mouth.

Pat pushed a moan out through gritted teeth. Nick was rolling his tongue in wave-like motions just beneath the head, just long enough that Pat started to move his hips in little halting thrusts. Nick didn’t stop him, but he did pull back a moment to lick up the underside instead. Pat let out a shaky breath and stilled.

So maybe teasing was a little his style. Or it was just that he so rarely saw Pat rattled at all - the prospect was too good to pass up.

Nick took him back into his mouth, sinking farther down now, watching Pat’s spine arch and his eyes slide shut for the briefest of moments before locking on Nick again.

“Your fucking _mouth_ ,” Pat said, and he let out a sound of disbelief as Nick dropped the back of his tongue and opened his throat and took Pat in down to the root, bracing his elbow on the bed. “Your mouth was made for this, Nick, and - God, and you - you _asked_ for it, like it’s a fucking - _privilege_ -”

Nick was starting to tear up a little; he pulled back halfway and hummed an answer, his soft palate vibrating against the head.

“Sorry,” Pat gasped, grinning down at him. His voice was trembling a little. “Am I objectifying you?”

Nick swallowed him down again, managed to hold it for a good moment - long enough to look up at Pat from under his wet lashes and blink a few times, rapid - the only way he could think to say _I don’t give a shit_ without actually pulling off of Pat’s cock, denying himself the heavy heat and the heady taste and the tangible sensation of Pat falling apart beneath him. Instead he kept going, ignoring the slow-growing ache in his jaw and the way his arm was starting to fall asleep, chasing the way Pat’s dick twitched when he swallowed around it and the tension in Pat’s stomach and thighs.

“God, Nick, you should - you should pull off, I’m…”

And the thing was, Nick didn’t specifically _enjoy_ swallowing, but he loved the reactions he could get from it; Pat was still watching him, hadn’t stopped the entire time, and his glazed eyes were desperate now as he realized Nick wasn’t going to stop. Nick pulled up, till just the head sat on his tongue, and used a hand on the rest of Pat’s length, twisting from the base, dipping his tongue into the slit and then below the head again. And Pat was right - it wasn’t long at all before a choked cry made its way out of his throat, and then he was pulsing, coming on Nick’s tongue, and Nick could hear his name somewhere in there. He gentled his touch but didn’t stop until Pat gave him a feeble shove, suddenly oversensitive.

Nick dragged himself up to where Pat lay, panting; he curled himself around Pat’s side, hooking a leg over Pat’s and taking care to keep his hips away. He was still hard, enough that it was almost uncomfortable, but Pat’s pulse was racing and he had a hand over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. Nick didn’t want to rush him - he just wanted touch. Pat curled an arm around him and ran a hand through his hair, movements clumsy but sweet.

“You good?” Nick asked, after a moment. Pat lifted the hand from his eyes, turning his head to huff a breath against Nick’s forehead.

“Yep. Jesus. Yeah, gimme a minute.”

“Mhm.” Nick tucked his face into Pat’s neck, surreptitiously taking in the smell of his soap and his sweat. Then Pat rolled over onto his side and he nudged Nick, guiding him onto his back.

“I’m sorry,” Pat said, and his arm beneath Nick tightened for a moment in a sort of half-embrace. His free hand smoothed over Nick’s stomach, low down. Nick’s hips twitched. “I don’t think I can move more than this.” He leaned in, nipped Nick’s ear. “You melted my brain.”

Nick was making a strangled sound - the hand was stroking lower and lower but it kept circling back too. “ _Pat_ …”

Finally Pat touched him, like he’d just been waiting for a plea. He wrapped his hand around Nick cock, just a little too lightly, and he started to stroke, a measured pace. Nick sucked his lower lip into his mouth and bit down on it hard - it was good, it wasn’t _enough_ \- and Pat leaned over him and brushed kisses across his top lip until Nick let go and kissed him back. Even _that_ was too light; Nick tried to get his tongue in Pat’s mouth and Pat slipped away, kissing a path down his jaw to his throat and across a mark that Nick _knew_ was there - he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining how sensitive it was there. Pat worried it a little more with his mouth, and in the same moment his hand dropped to roll Nick’s balls gently in his palm. Nick _tried_ not to squirm, he really did, but his whole body felt like it was vibrating.

“Are you fucking with me?” he blurted out, shutting his eyes. Pat paused, raised his head a little.

“Pardon?” he said, so guileless, and gave Nick’s cock another few loose strokes.

“ _Pat_ , come on, please, I’m gonna die and it’s gonna be your fault -” Nick tried to roll over into him, mindless, like maybe he could at least rub off on Pat’s leg if Pat wasn’t going to _fucking_ touch him for real, but Pat moved quicker - he was half on top of Nick, now, his knee pinning Nick’s thigh.

“Don’t die,” Pat said, his face drawn in worry. “I just wanted to watch you. You can’t imagine what you look like.”

Nick didn’t know what he would’ve said to that, but it didn’t matter: Pat took hold of him again and it was better already, none of that gentle bullshit - and then he was jacking Nick for real, twisting on the upstroke and pausing to thumb the head, and Nick wanted to buck up but Pat’s knee dug into his leg too hard for that and even Pat’s weight on his chest kept him from arching up. He tried, anyway, pressed up, fought the unwinnable fight against Pat’s wiry strength if only to send the message that it still wasn’t _enough_ , that he felt hot all over and he could feel his heartbeat in his dick and the pressure just kept building. He could hear himself saying Pat’s name, distant and broken, and Pat murmuring something back to him that his brain took a moment to process, _I want to fuck you someday, hear the sounds I can get out of you, on your back bent in two and tossing your head just like that, god I’m sorry but I wanna make you say my name like that and then I wanna fuck the voice right out of you -_

Nick came with a jagged groan that tore itself out of his throat. Pat was close enough - watching? Nick’s eyes were still closed and maybe it was better that way - that his hair was brushing Nick’s face, which was annoying but not something he could fix right then. And it was fine, because a moment later Pat leaned down, kissed him open-mouthed and greedy. Nick barely managed to return it, mostly just let himself relax and be kissed; Pat was still touching him, giving a few more soft, easy strokes before he let go and fell back onto the bed on his side with a sigh.

Nick could feel his own come starting to dry on his stomach. Gross. Whatever.

“You fucking tease,” he said, when he finally felt like he could talk again.

“Oh,” said Pat, managing to sound both winded and mildly offended. “Was that unsatisfying? I must’ve misread that noise you made just then.”

Nick snorted, lacking the energy to argue, and Pat curled in closer. “I thought so,” he said.

Nick lay still for a while; Pat’s hand was lying on his heart, his thumb moving in little strokes, oddly soothing, and it was so tempting to fall asleep right then - who cared about a little dry come, right? - until his brain caught up to the situation.

“Contacts,” he said, and heaved a sigh.

Pat lifted his head. “Hm?”

“My - fucking contacts, I don’t have the case or the cleaner or a change of clothes, or - shit, a toothbrush, what was drunk me thinking?” Nick sat up, and Pat followed, groaning at the effort.

“I’ve got cleaner, Nick, I’m sure I’ve got a spare case somewhere, too.”

“I don’t have _clothes_. I should go back.” But he didn’t move, partly because he was still uncertain of the integrity of his legs and partly because Pat’s hand was on his arm, and then Pat’s face was against his shoulder.

“You can’t just leave,” Pat said, and he sounded _so_ pathetic. Nick turned a little to look down at him, and Pat’s cheek was pressed to his upper arm and he was blinking up at Nick with such big imploring eyes. “Borrow my clothes.”

Nick laughed, but he leaned into Pat a little. “That’s sweet, but you have to know logistically there’s no way I’m going to be able to squeeze into your skinny jeans.”

“Sweatpants, then,” said Pat, and he was tugging on Nick’s arm now, trying to pull him back down to the bed. Nick let him, even though his contacts really were starting to dry out pretty bad. Pat was wrapping himself around Nick’s body, rubbing his stubbly face on Nick’s shoulder, and all Nick wanted was to let himself be cuddled.

“Fuck it,” he said. “Walk of shame can’t be that bad.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm running a sideblog for polygon rpf with my gf over [here](http://kevinspaceyvoice.tumblr.com)... come talk to us


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